Ruth's Funeral
by HR always live on
Summary: Set after 10-6, sticking to the story shown on TV. Does exactly what the title says. One shot.


Harry felt like he had been under a bright spotlight all day. Today had been the worst day of his life. Ruth's funeral. He never thought he would see this day, mainly because he'd always assumed he would go first. Which was an odd assumption when he stopped to think about it. Why would he ever consider this when they'd never been together in the first place? Today, it was as if it was a page from someone else's life. He couldn't comprehend how his beautiful, warm and loving Ruth could be lying cold and dead in the coffin in the church. It was ridiculous. Impossible. So crazy that it was almost laughable. And yet, somehow it was true. Her beautiful face, her honest and captivating blue eyes were closed off from the world forever. He would never see her again.

Her funeral today had had a respectable turn out. Even though he knew she would have only appreciated a few people's presence. Dimitri and Erin, who hadn't quite managed to hide the fact that they were holding hands. Callum was there too, his usual quips fading out with the horrific reality of this job. And Malcolm of course. Malcolm was the person Harry felt personally grateful for coming. He seemed to understand how hard this was for him. He hadn't tried to persuade Harry to engage in conversation and had accepted that he simply couldn't speak over the grief he was drowning in. Words seemed so meaningless now. He hadn't spoken once since she'd died in his arms. He couldn't. He didn't imagine he'd ever formulate words again.

Towers had come but for once he hadn't been his gloating buoyant normal self. Somehow his quiet understanding was almost harder to bear. Words such as "terrible loss" and "I'll miss her" didn't really mean much. The other attendees at her funeral had been people high up in the service. People who were trying to persuade Harry that life went on. People who didn't understand why on the death of his analyst Harry had suddenly abandoned his office in Thames House. Who were trying to persuade him to come back to work. Harry didn't even have it in him to feel angry that they were treating Ruth's funeral as a tactic to get him back to work. He was so consumed by grief that every other emotion was completely eclipsed by it.

He had watched her coffin get lowered into the earth feeling nothing, almost as if this wasn't real as the sunlight burned brightly, at such odds with the sad occasion. People had slowly left the graveside but Harry couldn't. He could see the gravediggers out of the corner of his eye, waiting respectfully until he left, but his feet seemed stuck to the ground. He could feel the burn of tears starting as he had been brought back to that day last week. Could it only have happened a mere seven days ago? It seemed impossible to believe. Seven days ago and she had been alive. Her hair blowing in the wind, her eyes twinkling as she asked him to leave MI5 with her. And one thing that tortured him was that he'd never said yes. He'd gripped her hand tightly and smiled, but he had never actually formed the words. He wiped his eyes and with supreme effort he turned away from Ruth's final resting place feeling grateful that Malcolm had waited for him.

He couldn't face drinks with everyone in the pub and Malcolm had taken him home. To his empty and cold house. His future warm life with Ruth had been snuffed out before it had really begun. Malcolm had barely shut the door before Harry had poured two large generous measures of whisky, downing his in one before refilling it.

"Do you think it's the best idea to drink yourself into oblivion?" Malcolm asked. Harry shrugged and continued drinking. It seemed to be the only way he ever got any sleep these days. And alcohol induced sleep usually included dreams of an alive Ruth, something he treasured. Malcolm looked at his oldest friend with sadness. "Do you think she would want this?" Harry didn't reply. "She loved you. She loved you more than I've seen anyone be loved. That doesn't stop because she died too soon Harry." Harry still didn't speak. The subject of Ruth's love was incredibly painful. "I'm going to go. I've got to take care of my mother. But I'm always at the other end of the phone. I'll miss her too. Ruth was one of a kind." Harry nodded his thanks as Malcolm left.

Once alone he locked the house out of habit and his thoughts drifted to her last day on earth. Thinking of Ruth was incredibly painful, but not thinking of her proved to be impossible. It should have been him. Sasha should have killed him. Ruth shouldn't have got in the way, then she would have been just fine. It might have been his funeral today. The one thing that he kept replaying in his head was the moment she'd been stabbed and he'd just stood there and let it happen. He'd been in too much shock to do anything, never believing that any harm would come to her, he assumed it would be him who would end up injured.

All he could do was catch her body before she hit the cold and unyielding earth. The irony wasn't lost on him. After nearly a decade of waiting, the first time he held her close was when she was dying, warm blood pouring out of her as she became as cold as the air around them. He'd caressed her face and tried to buy time for the air response unit, but nothing had been enough. Her eyes had closed for the last time and even a shot of adrenaline wasn't enough to bring her back. The second that he realised she was never going to respond replayed in his mind on a torturous never ending loop. He had cried like he hadn't cried in so many years and held her body close, ignoring the drops of her scarlet blood staining his white shirt. He pressed a chaste kiss to her rapidly cooling lips, willing her to respond. But of course she hadn't. And he'd cried into the crook of her neck, wishing and praying for a miracle. But miracles didn't happen in real life did they? That time was a blur to him now. He didn't know how long he stayed there, lying with her wishing her back to life, but he couldn't stop. Because he knew if he left her he'd never get the chance to hold her or touch her or kiss her ever again. And that was more than he could bear.

Before leaving her he'd buried his head in her hair, smelling her usual intoxicating scent mixed with the fresh grass and now, more gruesomely blood. "I love you," he whispered into her forever unhearing ears. "And I will until I join you."

Harry couldn't remember getting home after that. Ruth's body had been transferred to the hospital morgue but he didn't want to see her again. He didn't want to remember her lifeless and cold, it wasn't the person she'd been. Back in the present he refilled his whisky glass again. He had nothing to do anymore. He could drink himself to death if he chose to and no one would care. More importantly no one would stop him. Except her. He could almost see the look of disapproval on her face in the moonlight now streaming through his living room window.

"Come on Harry, I'm not worth this," he could almost see her saying. Except she was. To him she was everything. He didn't know what to do as he drained the last of the bottle. So he cried and then fell into a sleep that was half exhaustion more than anything else. In his dreams he saw her happier than he thought he'd ever actually seen her in real life. But her smile, her eyes, her hair, her scent… It was all so her.

His beloved Ruth whom he would never see again.

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><p><strong>Now I've thoroughly depressed you, I'd love to read a review. Many thanks if you leave one :-)<strong>


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